The Storm Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  Pip put his arms round her and smoothed away her tears with his fingers. ‘Of course you’re not, my love. He will grow out of it, I promise.’

  As the summer approached, both parents despaired of ever having a full night’s sleep again. Then on the first night of silence, they both woke automatically at two o’clock, the hour when the caterwauling would normally begin.

  ‘Do you think he’s all right? Why isn’t he crying? Mon Dieu! What if he’s dead?!’ said Karine, flying out of the bed to run to the cradle wedged into a corner of the tiny room. ‘No, no, he is breathing and doesn’t seem to have a fever,’ she whispered, standing over Felix and putting her hand to his forehead.

  ‘Then what is he doing?’ Pip asked.

  A smile began to form on Karine’s lips. ‘He is sleeping, chérie. Just sleeping.’

  As peace was restored to the household, Pip went back to work on his music. After much thought, he had decided to call it The Hero Concerto. The story he’d read of the priestess who flouted the rules of the temple by allowing her young admirer to make love to her, then, when he drowned, throwing herself into the sea after him, suited Karine’s dramatic and independent nature well. Besides, Karine was his ‘Hero’, and Pip knew that if he ever lost her, he would do the same.

  One afternoon in August, he put down the pencil he used to write on the sheet music and stretched his arms above him in relief. The last orchestration was now complete. His composition was finished.

  The following Sunday, he and Karine took baby Felix up by train to visit his parents at Froskehuset. After lunch, he handed out the sheet music containing the parts for cello, violin and oboe and asked Karine and Horst to study them. After a quick rehearsal – they were both experienced sightreaders – Pip sat down at the piano and the little orchestra began to play.

  Twenty minutes later, Pip rested his hands in his lap and turned to see his mother wiping tears from her eyes.

  ‘My son wrote that . . .’ she whispered, glancing up at her husband. ‘I think he has inherited your own father’s gift, Horst.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Horst, also visibly moved. He clapped a hand on Pip’s shoulder. ‘It’s truly inspired, my boy. It must be played to Harald Heide as soon as possible. I am convinced he will wish to premiere it here in Bergen.’

  ‘Of course, it’s all down to me for buying you the piano,’ said Karine airily as they sat on the train on the way home. ‘And now, when you become rich, you can replace the pearl necklace I sold to buy it.’ She reached over to kiss his cheek as she saw the shocked expression on his face. ‘Do not fret, my love. You have done Felix and me proud and we love you.’

  Pip plucked up the courage to seek out Harald Heide at the concert hall before the first evening performance of the week. Finding him backstage, he explained that he had written a concerto and wished to gain Harald’s opinion on it.

  ‘No time like the present. Why don’t you play it for me now?’ Harald suggested.

  ‘Er . . . very well, sir.’ Nervously, Pip sat down, put his fingers to the keys and played the entire concerto through from memory. Harald did not stop him, and when Pip had finished, he applauded him loudly.

  ‘Well, well, it’s very, very good indeed, Herr Halvorsen. The recurring theme is delightfully original and hypnotic. I’m already humming it. Glancing through these pages, I can see that some of the orchestrations will need work, but I can give you some help with those. I wonder,’ he said as he handed the sheets of music back to Pip, ‘whether we have another young Grieg in our midst. There was a definite strain of his work within the structure, but perhaps I also heard Rachmaninoff and Stravinsky in there as well.’

  ‘I am hoping you heard a bit of me too, sir,’ Pip replied bravely.

  ‘Indeed I did, indeed I did. Well done, young man. I think we might look towards adding it to the programme in early spring, which would give you time to work on the orchestrations.’

  After the concert, Pip took the liberty of waking up his sleeping wife. ‘Can you believe it, kjære?! It’s happening! By this time next year, I may be a professional composer!’

  ‘That is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard. Not that I doubted it for a second. You will have influence,’ she said with a giggle. ‘I will be the wife of the famous Pip Halvorsen.’

  ‘Of course, I will be “Jens Halvorsen”,’ he corrected her. ‘Taking the proper name of my grandfather before me.’

  ‘Who I’m sure would be very proud of you, chérie. As I am.’

  They toasted the news with a glass of aquavit each and then completed the celebration with a silent bout of lovemaking, so as not to disturb Felix, who lay peacefully asleep in his cot at the bottom of their bed.

  Why is it that happiness is always short-lived? Pip asked himself miserably as he read in the newspaper on 4th September that, following the German invasion of Poland on 1st September, France and Britain had declared war on Germany. As Pip left the house and walked the short distance to the concert hall for a rehearsal, he could feel the pall of gloom which hung over the town’s residents.

  ‘But Norway managed to remain neutral in the last war, so why not in this one? We are a nation of pacifists and should have nothing to fear,’ said Samuel, one of Pip’s fellow musicians, as the orchestra tuned up their instruments in the pit. All of them were agog at the news and buzzing with nervous tension.

  ‘Ah, but remember that Vidkun Quisling, who leads the fascist party here in Norway, is doing his best to drum up support for Hitler’s cause,’ replied Horst sombrely as he rosined his cello bow. ‘He has already presented many lectures on what he calls “the Jewish problem”. And should he come to power, God forbid, there can be little doubt that he would take the side of the Germans.’

  After the concert, Pip drew his father to one side. ‘Far, do you really think that we will become involved in this war?’

  ‘I’m afraid it is possible.’ Horst shrugged sadly. ‘And even if our nation resists the call to bear arms for either side, I have my doubts that the German regime will leave us be.’

  That night, Pip did his best to console Karine, whose eyes burnt once more with the fear he had seen in Leipzig.

  ‘Please, calm yourself,’ he said to her as she paced up and down in the kitchen, holding a wriggling Felix protectively to her breast, as if the Nazis would suddenly burst through the front door and wrest her son from her arms. ‘Remember that you are now a baptised Lutheran and your name is Halvorsen. Even if the Nazis invade here, which is very unlikely, no one is to know that you’re Jewish by birth.’

  ‘Oh Pip! Please, stop being so naive! They would only need to take one look at me to see the truth. And then a little investigation would reveal it. You do not understand their thoroughness – they will stop at nothing to root us out! And what about our son? He has Jewish blood! Perhaps they will take him too!’

  ‘I cannot see any way they can discover it. And besides, we have to believe they will not come here,’ Pip said, pushing his father’s earlier comments determinedly to the back of his mind. ‘I’ve been told by several people that there is a constant trickle of Jews coming from Europe via Sweden to Norway to escape the Nazi threat. They see it as a safe haven. Why can’t you?’

  ‘Because they may be wrong, Pip . . . they may be wrong.’ She sighed suddenly, and collapsed into a chair. ‘Will I always be forced to feel fear?’

  ‘I swear, Karine, I will do everything I can to protect you and Felix. Whatever it takes, my love.’

  She looked up at him, her dark eyes haunted and disbelieving. ‘I know that is your wish, chérie, and I thank you for it, but sadly even you may not be able to save me this time.’

  Just as had happened after the Mendelssohn statue in Leipzig had been reduced to rubble, Pip felt the atmosphere of tension calming in the following month, as everyone in Norway began to accept the situation and react to it accordingly. King Haakon and their prime minister, Johan Nygaardsvold, did all they could to reassure their citizens that German
y was not interested in their tiny corner of the world. There was no need to panic, they reiterated, although the army and navy had been mobilised and various precautions were already being put in place in case the worst did happen.

  At the same time, Pip, guided by the experienced and nurturing hands of Harald, spent hours perfecting his orchestrations. Just before Christmas, Harald gave him the wonderful news that The Hero Concerto was to be included in the Spring Programme. This engendered further rounds of aquavit when he arrived home after the concert that evening.

  ‘And my first performance will be dedicated to you, my love.’

  ‘And I will be there to hear you give birth to your masterpiece. You were there when I gave birth to mine,’ she said as she threw herself drunkenly into his arms. And then they made love with noisy abandon, unimpeded by their son, who was staying overnight at his grandparents’.

  41

  On a rainy March morning in 1940, Pip sat across the breakfast table from his wife, and saw a frown deepen on her brow as she read the letter from her parents.

  ‘What is it, my love?’ he asked her.

  Her eyes met his. ‘My parents say that we should leave for America immediately. They are convinced that Herr Hitler’s plan is for world domination. That he will not be sated until he has control of Europe and then beyond. See, they have sent as many dollars as they could to help us with the cost of the voyage.’ She waved some thin notes at him. ‘If we sold the piano, we could easily find the rest of the money. They say France and even Norway are no longer safe from invasion.’

  Pip, only weeks away from his premiere, scheduled for a special Sunday concert at the Nationale Scene theatre on 14th April, met her gaze steadily. ‘Forgive me, but how can your parents, who are thousands of miles away, know more about the situation in Europe than we do?’

  ‘Because they have an overview, a neutrality that we here cannot have. We are “in” it, and perhaps we are all deluding ourselves here in Norway, because it is all we can do for comfort. Pip, truly, I think it is time for us to leave,’ she urged him.

  ‘My darling, you know as well as I do that the future for all three of us rests on the success of the premiere of my concerto. How on earth can I walk away from that now?’

  ‘To keep your wife and child safe, perhaps?’

  ‘Karine, please don’t say that! I have done all I can to protect you and will continue to do so. If we wish to make our future in America, I must have a reputation that goes before me. If I don’t have it, I will arrive as simply another would-be composer from a country most Americans have never heard of. I doubt I’ll walk into the New York Philharmonic or any other orchestra as a tea boy, let alone as someone to be taken seriously.’

  Pip saw the sudden anger flash in Karine’s eyes. ‘Are you sure it is the money you wish for? Or is this more for your own ego?’

  ‘Please, stop patronising me,’ he said coldly as he rose from the table. ‘I am your husband, and the father of our son. And it is up to me to make the decisions in this house. I have a meeting with Harald in twenty minutes. We’ll talk about this later.’

  Pip left the house, seething with resentment and thinking that sometimes Karine pushed him too far. As well as reading every newspaper he could lay his hands on, his ear was constantly to the ground, carefully monitoring the chatter on the streets and in the orchestra pit. There were two Jewish musicians amongst their ranks and neither of them seemed to think there was a reason to panic. And no one had so far suggested that Herr Hitler had imminent plans to invade Norway. Surely, he thought as he walked through the streets of the town, Karine’s parents were scaremongering? Given the premiere was in three weeks’ time, it would be total madness for them to leave now.

  And for once, Pip thought, a surge of irritation rising inside him at the undermining of his opinions, Karine would listen to her husband.

  ‘Then so be it.’ Karine shrugged dismissively as Pip told her that evening that his plan was for the family to remain in Bergen until after the premiere. ‘If you believe that your wife and son are safe here, I have no choice but to trust you.’

  ‘I do believe you are safe. For now anyway. In the future, we can take a view as necessary.’ Pip watched her as she rose from her chair after listening tensely to his strong rebuttal of her parents’ thoughts and her own instincts. ‘Of course, I cannot stop you leaving if that is what you wish to do,’ he added with a weary shrug.

  ‘As you have pointed out, you are my husband and I must bow to your opinion and judgement. Of course, Felix and I will stay here with you. It is our place.’ She turned away from him and continued towards the door. Then she paused and turned back. ‘I just pray that you are right, Pip. For God help us all if you are not.’

  Five days before Pip’s concerto was due to be premiered, the German war machine attacked Norway. The country, whose merchant fleet was fully occupied helping Britain to provide a blockade in the Channel to protect it from invasion, was taken completely unawares. The Norwegians, with their skeletal navy, did their best to defend the ports of Oslo, Bergen and Trondheim, even managing to destroy a German warship in Oslofjord carrying arms and supplies. But the bombardment from sea, sky and land was incessant and unstoppable.

  As Bergen was beleaguered, Pip, Karine and Felix retreated up into the hills to the sanctuary of Froskehuset and sat there in terrified silence, listening to the buzz of the Luftwaffe overhead and the sound of gunfire in the town below them.

  Pip could not raise his eyes to meet Karine’s gaze; he knew exactly what it would contain. They got into bed that evening, both of them silent, and lay there like two strangers with Felix asleep between them. Eventually, unable to bear it any longer, Pip searched for her hand.

  ‘Karine,’ he said into the darkness, ‘how can you ever forgive me?’

  There was a lengthy pause before she answered. ‘Because I must. You are my husband and I love you.’

  ‘I swear that, even now this has happened, we are safe. Everyone says the citizens of Norway have nothing to fear. The Nazis only invaded us in order to protect the passage of their iron ore supplies from Sweden. It is not about you and me.’

  ‘No, Pip.’ Karine gave an exhausted sigh. ‘But it is always about us.’

  Over the next two days, the residents of Bergen were assured by their German occupiers that they had nothing to fear and that life would go on as normal. Swastikas hung from City Hall, and soldiers in Nazi uniforms filled the streets. The town centre had been badly damaged during the battle for Bergen, and all future concerts were cancelled.

  Pip was in despair. He had risked his wife’s and his son’s life for a premiere that now would never take place. He took himself outside and walked up and into the forest. He slumped onto a fallen tree and put his head in his hands. For the first time in his adult life, he wept with shame and horror.

  Bo and Elle came to visit them that evening up at Froksehuset and the six of them discussed the situation.

  ‘I hear our brave King has left Oslo,’ said Elle to Karine. ‘He’s hiding somewhere up in the north. And Bo and I are leaving too.’

  ‘When? How?’ asked Karine.

  ‘Bo has a fisherman friend who works out of the harbour. He has said he will take us and any others who wish it across to Scotland. Will you join us?’

  Karine threw a furtive glance at Pip, who was deep in conversation with his father. ‘I doubt my husband will want to come. Are Felix and I in danger here? Elle, please tell me. What does Bo think?’

  ‘None of us knows, Karine. Even if we reach Great Britain, the Germans may invade there too. This war is like a plague that spreads everywhere. At least here, you are married to a Norwegian, and are now a Lutheran yourself. Have you told anyone here of your original religion and heritage?’

  ‘No! Well, apart from my parents-in-law, of course.’

  ‘Then perhaps it is best you stay here with your husband. You have his name, and the history of his famous Bergen family to protect you. It is not the sa
me for Bo and me. We have nothing to hide behind. We are only grateful to Pip and his family for giving us sanctuary and leading us out of danger. If we had stayed in Germany, then . . .’ Elle shuddered. ‘I have heard stories of camps for Jews, of whole families disappearing from their homes in the dead of night.’

  Karine had heard them too. ‘When will you leave?’

  ‘I will not tell you. It is best that you don’t know, in case things here get worse. Please say nothing to Pip, or his parents.’

  ‘Will it be soon?’

  ‘Yes. And Karine,’ Elle said, grabbing her friend’s hand, ‘we must say our goodbyes now. And I can only hope and pray that one day we will meet again.’

  They embraced then, their eyes glistening with tears, and took each other’s hand in a show of silent solidarity.

  ‘I will always be here for you, my friend,’ Karine whispered. ‘Write to me when you reach Scotland.’

  ‘I will, I promise. Remember that despite his misjudgement, your husband is a good man. How could anyone except those of our race have foreseen this? Forgive him, Karine. He cannot understand what it is like to always live in fear.’

  ‘I will try,’ Karine agreed.

  ‘Good.’ With a small smile, Elle stood up from the sofa and gestured to Bo that she was ready to leave.

  As Karine watched them go, she knew with a certainty that came from her soul that she would never set eyes on either of them again.

  Two days later, Karine and Pip braved the journey down the hillside and made their way home. They saw smoke was still billowing from the burnt-out houses along the harbour side that had been destroyed in the shelling and fires.

  The chart maker’s shop was one of them.

  Both of them stood and gazed at the smouldering heap in horror.